


Family Ties

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-11
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-25 22:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse





	Family Ties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lorraine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/gifts).



"A whole weekend off for the first time in forever and you drag me out at sparrow fart to go shopping," grumbled Bodie. "I didn't even have breakfast."

"That's because you didn't have any food in," pointed out Doyle. "Which means you lured me into your lair with promises you couldn't keep. Well, not the ones about breakfast anyway." He gave a wicked grin, then paused outside the greengrocers to consult his list. He began to squeeze oranges in a manner Bodie found highly suggestive. "Right, stay there - and don't nick anything while I'm inside."

"As if." Pious as a choirboy, Bodie bit into a plump Cox's Pippin, then held it up for Doyle to add to the bill. Ray was buying far too much veg. for his liking. There again, he knew who'd be carrying it all.

"Here, hold these," instructed Doyle, emerging with three bulging carrier bags.

"What the hell...?"

"Onions, potatoes, carrots, apples, oranges, cauliflower, garlic, bananas, tomatoes - "

"No need to list the lot. I miss the takeaway days," said Bodie wistfully.

"Get a move on," said Doyle, unimpressed, bumping Bodie with his shoulder. "Right. We've done the newsagents, laundry, bakers, butchers greengrocers, chemist. Chemist. Knew I'd forgotten something. Back this way. Wait here."

"Ashamed to be seen with me, are you?"

"Remember the last time I went into a chemist to buy some Vaseline Intensive Care?"

"Ah. But I was really apologetic later," Bodie reminded him.

The severity of Doyle's expression melted into one of his slow smiles. "So you were. But you're still not embarrassing me like that again. Don't go wanderin' off."

Still peckish, Bodie debated whether to have a banana but thought the better of it. Since shacking up with Doyle he'd lost the knack of being able to eat them with any pretence of decorum. Idly scanning the window, he caught sight of himself, looking like virtually every other bloke in sight as they did the family shopping: chilly; resigned to being bossed around; secure... While he'd have teeth pulled before he admitted it, he loved the predictable domesticity of it all, Ray whingeing happily in the background, glancing up every so often to exchange a look that confirmed he was loving it too. Though quite how he'd take to the notion that he'd been cast as the nagging wife... What the hell was he doing in there?

At last.

A women cut Doyle off, emerged from the door in a rush, tripped and would have fallen but for Bodie's reflexes. Her open handbag sprayed out it contents across the pavement, along with potatoes and onions from one of the bags Bodie had dropped.

"I've got it," said Doyle, busying himself collecting up a bunch of keys, purse, diary, Tampax container, lipstick, makeup bag, packet of tissues, address book, wallet and two envelopes of photographs obviously just collected from the chemist.

"Thank you," said the women as Doyle handed her back her belongings, which she stuffed into her Hermes bag. "I'm so sorry, more haste, less speed." She wore an expensive, if dull, outfit, complete with Alice band over her well-cut blonde hair, with pearls above the twin-set and pleated skirt. The photographs slipped from her grasp, one of the envelopes splitting open to spill snaps onto the pavement.

Doyle sighed and bent to pick them up, wondering why women always tried to pack the kitchen sink into their handbags. Her diary had been the size of War and Peace. The pictures were all of a children's birthday party in a large, expensive looking room, with two frazzled adults who were obviously hoping their house wouldn't be wrecked by children hyped-up on sugar. Then he noticed the third adult, almost out of shot; a tall, wafer-thin man with receding black hair and a large nose. Valeri Roskov, assassin extraordinaire.

"Bodie!" Doyle thrust the photograph at him and began to check the others with no pretence at subtlety.

Bodie met Doyle's eyes, nodded, and went over to the car to dump the shopping and call in, mentally waving goodbye to their free weekend.

"What do you imagine you're doing?" said the woman, warmth changing to arctic disapproval in a heartbeat.

Old money finding the peasants revolting, noted Doyle, amused, before he pinned a polite smile in place.

"Saving your photographs from being trampled on the pavement. I'm sorry but we need to ask you a few questions. About the people in this photograph in particular. I'm Ray Doyle, that's my partner, Bodie. We're CI5." He extended his ID.

She read it right down to the small print. "Lucy Carstairs. My husband's a junior minister at the Home Office."

Back in time to hear that Bodie only just silenced his groan. With an M.P. involved everything was bound to take three times as long, with Cowley's temper on an even shorter leash.

"Excellent, then you'll have heard of CI5. If you'll come with us," said Doyle, all the hard edges smoothed from his face and voice as he projected a deferential reassurance.

It was so convincing Bodie almost believed it himself.

"Of course. Though how Fenella's birthday party can be of interest to anyone but her parents," she said as she eased into the back of their car, not a pleat of her skirt out of place.

"If you could just tell us who all the adults are," said Doyle, handing her the photograph.

"That's easy as I took them. That's Fenella's mother Polly, my partner. We own the nursery where the party was held. That's her husband Phil Rickard. He's a businessman. Import/export something or another. That's little Fenella, bless her. And there's my Tommy."

"And this man?" said Doyle casually, pointing to the just visible Roskov.

"Oh, that's Fenella's father. Vaclav Grunberg. I only met him briefly that day. I think he's Eastern European. He has a very attractive accent, and lovely manners. Unlike Phil he was there when the party began and worked like a Trojan the whole time. Fenella adores him. From what Polly's said I know Vaclav sees her at least once a month, and has been supporting her financially since she was born, although Polly and he had split up by then. You can't believe that *Polly* is involved in anything shady?"

"Not at all," said Doyle. "But I know our boss would like a chat about...Vaclav."

Her expression sharpened. "Why?"

"I'm sorry, we can't tell you that. Need to know,"said Bodie from the front seat.

She went up in their estimation when she just nodded her acceptance.

"Now, your little boy? Is someone looking after him? I'm afraid this might take a while," said Doyle. With a Home Office minister, no matter how junior, to investigate, Cowley was going to be in a foul mood. And no prizes for guessing who he would take it out on.

"Oh, he's with his father for the weekend. We're separated. Does this...? Is Marcus involved in anything dangerous? Because if so, I want Tommy, now!"

"Relax, Mrs Carstairs," said Doyle, keeping his manner deferential and his tone soothing. "We have no reason to believe that. But, obviously, inquiries will have to be made."

"Into whom? Vaclav? Why don't you just arrest him? Or take *him* in for questioning."

"Ah," said Bodie. "There's just a small problem. No one knew he was in Britain. Would your friend Polly know where he's staying?"

"Probably. But I can tell you where he'll be early this evening. We're holding a fireworks party in the garden of the nursery from five o'clock onwards. Vaclav promised to be there to help. Obviously we need as many adults as possible to make sure the children are well away from the fireworks. Oh, God. I'll have to cancel that. We can't have..."

Calm competence turned into panicked tizzy as she worried about her son, other peoples' children, her ex-husband, and her business. One way and another, it was with some relief that Bodie and Doyle handed her over to Cowley.

Unfortunately, they made the mistake of being just too smug about it.

oOo

"No breakfast, no lunch and nothing but kid's food - if we're lucky - to look forward to this evening," groused Bodie.

"You've eaten an apple, two bananas and three Eccles cakes," said Doyle, who was hunched over the binoculars set up at the window overlooking the Sunshine Nursery. The garden was a hive of activity as adults set about making the place look festive. "Ruth, Sally and Susan are looking well po-faced," he reported. "Anson, Benny and Jack seem to be hiding at the moment."

"Wouldn't you with thirty-five kids about to descend on you and Valeri Roskov feeding them jelly."

"Jacket potatoes with three cheeses, sausages on sticks..."

"Never mind, Cinders, you, too, shall go to the ball."

"I'd far rather be here in the warm, thank you very much. Particularly given the mood the Old Man's in. How many times has the Home Secretary been on to him?"

"I lost count," said Bodie. "Cheer up, sunshine. There's our Valeri, unwrapping paper plates. Bloody ironic. How many people has he killed?"

"Eleven, that we know about. I still think Cowley should have cancelled the party. What if something goes wrong? There are thirty-five kids down there."

"And eight of my best agents," said a familiar voice.

Bodie grimaced, knowing what was coming. And just when he had started to get some feeling back in his feet.

"There are only six down there," said Doyle, whose energy levels required more support than two apples and an Eccles cake.

"Two more when you and Bodie get going. Every report says Valeri's the doting father. With Mrs Carstairs kept away by that 'stomach bug' and sending her chauffer and gardener to help out, there's no reason for him to be anything but relaxed. We'll wait until the party is over and little ones have gone home before we move in on him. Thanks to the help from the various agencies we've people on every street around the area, on foot and in cars, vans and on motorbike. He's too important to risk losing. Well what are you waiting for?"

oOo

Bodie and Doyle soon escaped out into the now dark garden because it was obvious most of the parents preferred not to have to socialise with the hired help.

"Strewth, I hadn't realised how big the garden is," said Doyle, as they strolled casually around the perimeter, trying to remember to beam fondly as screaming children raced past them. "And in Kensington. The fees for this place are probably more than our salaries. We certainly never had anything like this on the estate I grew up on."

"What estate would that be, Chatsworth?" Bodie ran interference on three six-year olds who were heading for the, as yet, unlit bonfire, arson obviously on their minds.

"Council, in case you were confusing me with an aristo."

"Long live the revolution."

Hands punched deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, the sheepskin collar turned up against the cold breeze which was ruffling his hair and turning the tip of his nose pink, Doyle nodded.

"When I think what they're spending on this Guy Fawkes party for kids this young, yeah, I could man the barricades."

"Sure it's not sour grapes?"

"Oh, them too," Doyle acknowledged. "Look at it all. That spread of food inside. And the quality of the booze. Not to mention what they must have spent on the bloke who's in charge of actually running the firework display. It's all about impressing the adults. All kids want is a big bonfire, some noise and fireworks they can hold."

"Ah, at last. The ceremonial lighting of the bonfire," noted Bodie. "Shift to the left a bit. I want to be in a good position to nab one of those jacket potatoes. I'm starving. You can see the steam coming off them." His lip all but quivered.

"We're on duty."

"We're also supposed to blend in. Look, the kids are all stuffing their faces. The adults too, except for the elegant mums who are drinking themselves insensible. We'll stand out if we don't eat."

"Go on then." Doyle's air of martyred patience lost conviction when his stomach growled.

His face one large grin, Bodie vanished into the night.

While avoiding so much as a direct glance in Roskov's direction, Doyle kept an eye on everyone, a task made easier by the fact most of the children were sitting down to eat, their elbows out at right angles, their mouths rarely shut, even when they chewed. He grinned when he saw Anson's pained expression, before he sobered. Cowley must be mad running an op. with so many children around. Though from what they had seen of him Roskov was a devoted dad, who seemed to be enjoying everything about the evening.

"Here, wrap your laughing gear around this," instructed Bodie. "Look, the silver foil's folded to look like a water lily. How come you never do that for me?"

Doyle was in no state to reply, having discovered the hard way just how hot the interior of the cheese and potato mixture was.

"Strewth, this is good. Which kid is Roskov's?" asked Bodie, a blissful expression in place as he savoured every fork full.

"The girl in pink."

"That narrows it down."

Doyle grinned. "Fair comment. The really skinny one with ringlets and no front teeth. There, thumping that boy. Oops. Oh, good. Mum's at hand."

"Nanny, mate."

"I think she was giving me the once over," Doyle said without much interest.

"Yeah, she looked once and it was all over."

Doyle shook his head, grinning. Sometimes it was best just to surrender to the Bodie-effect.

Bodie licked his fork clean. He had given up the birds some months ago. Not because Doyle had asked but because he hadn't. And because of the expression in his eyes when he thought he wasn't being watched. Scrappy, argumentative, opinionated and inclined to be a pain-in-the-bum, Ray was the love of his life.

Not what he had planned for himself at all.

Bodie came to when he received a nudge in the ribs.

"Snap to Dolly Day-Dream. What were you thinking about?"

"You," said Bodie with truth.

"Oh." For the life of him Doyle couldn't hide his pleased grin.

"Who said it was good?" said Bodie, nauseated by such confidence.

Doyle waggled his eyebrows. "You mean it wasn't?"

"Finish your potato before I do it for you."

"I'm trying to make it last," said Doyle, licking his fingers as he finished the last piece of skin. "What were those black bits? I thought it was burnt bacon at first, but it tasted fantastic."

"Black truffle shavings," said Bodie. "Don't get too fond of 'em, we can't afford them. Want another?"

"Yeah, I do."

They stood in the shadows, missing nothing that went on around them as they contentedly ate their way through the best party food they were ever likely to eat, while watching Roskov with his daughter, who was now perched on his shoulders, skinny legs kicking as she watched the guy burn.

"Ironic, isn't it. A loving father who's a hit man. Ah, there goes the guy. Though I wish we could have saved the evening jacket he was wearing for you. It certainly beats anything in your wardrobe."

"Very droll. Anyway, I'm not likely to be needing a tux. again, am I," said Doyle, with a rare satisfaction. "Oh, fireworks." He raised his head to watch the explosions of colour, open pleasure on his face.

Bodie took advantage of the fact they were deep in the shadows at the back of the crowd to tuck an arm around him.

Doyle moved a fraction closer.

oOo

Ten minutes later Bodie said: "He's on the move."

"I see him. Cover me." Doyle eased behind Bodie and into the undergrowth to use his R/T. "Roskov's left the kid with her mum and is heading for the unlocked garden gate at the rear."

"We see him," said Lucas, from where he and McCabe were posted outside the high brick-walled garden.

Doyle relaxed against Bodie again as the gate closed behind Roskov. "At least the kids are safe. Blimey, look at that one." He tilted his face up to the sky again.

The all-clear came from Cowley halfway through the finale, making communication difficult between the explosions and cries of delight from those watching.

Doyle watched Susan, Sally and Ruth drift away, and glanced at Bodie. "You're not in any rush to leave?"

"May as well see it through to the end," said Bodie, deceiving no one and not caring that much.

"Good."

Once the display was over they discretely rebolted the gate and eased back into the house, letting themselves out without attracting any attention.

"Where did we leave the car, can you remember?" asked Doyle.

"Park Drive. Round the other side of this square. They even rail off the gardens round here."

"Going to be joining me on the barricades?"

"Only if you make it worth my while."

"You suggesting I'm not usually?" Doyle paused under a street lamp, all wide eyes and softened mouth, pelvis canted where his weight was supported by one leg.

"Do you even understand the concept of shame?" hissed Bodie, fastening the bottom button of his thigh length jacket.

Doyle looked decidedly smug. "Just checking I haven't lost my touch."

"I'll touch you in a minute," Bodie promised him, before he grinned. "You haven't."

"Was a better evening than I was expecting. I haven't been to a firework display since I was a kid," said Doyle, as they strolled beside the decorative railings, their feet crunching through the piles of dry leaves from the plane trees planted at regular intervals down the street. "There was a field at the back the estate. Mainly used as a dumping ground for rusting prams and old tyres, but every year the mums would clear away enough of the brambles and junk for a bonfire, and there'd be a whip round for a few fireworks. Charlie's dad saw to them. He was a fireman."

"Some kids get all the luck," said Bodie. "It doesn't get better than to have a fireman for your dad."

"Or an astronaut. Though they were a bit thin on the ground in Derby."

"Well they would be, wouldn't they," said Bodie, nudging him in the ribs when Doyle failed to get the joke.

Doyle groaned, then glanced up as silver spangles lit up the sky, the air smelling of bonfires and gunpowder.

"I always liked the sparklers best. They were supposed to be for the little kids but everyone loved 'em. And Andrew's mum did baked spuds with baked beans. Spotted dick with brown sugar and marg. for afters."

"And you go on about me clogging up my arteries."

"I was only ten. It was always cold on bonfire nights. But it never rained."

"Shows what your memory's worth. What did your dad do?" Bodie asked idly.

"Never knew who he was. There were several blokes I had to call dad but none of them lasted more than a few months at best. Though I probably didn't help much. I was a right little tearaway."

"Not a great stretch of the imagination," Bodie assured him, kicking up some leaves.

"At least I don't have any kids."

"That you know about."

"Oh, I've always been very careful."

Bodie shot him a glance, the street lamp enough to reveal the grim set of Doyle's face. "You never fancied being a dad?"

"Nah. I'd forgotten this smell," said Doyle, inhaling the musty scent of the leaves. He associated it with the nervy excitement of wondering if this would be the year when his dad came back, like mum had promised every time he asked. He never had, of course. With hindsight, Doyle was pretty sure his mother had never been sure who he was. Not that she'd been on the game exactly but with no family behind her, no skills and a kid to support... He could still remember the day he had realised she couldn't read and his burning determination that it wouldn't happen to him...

"What about you?" he asked Bodie. "What did you do Guy Fawkes night?"

"The same as you, more or less. Only I was praying my old man would end up on the bonfire." Bodie could feel the warmth of Doyle's body down his left side and for a moment, in the shadows between the street lamps, he felt Ray's hand brush his, their fingers linking briefly in an unnecessary reminder that neither of them was alone any more.

"Did you ever go back home - after you ran away, I mean?" asked Doyle casually, as if Bodie volunteering anything about his past was usual.

"Only to make sure he was really dead. Six months later mum found herself another just like him. Luckily there weren't any other kids, just me."

"One of you's all the world could cope with. Anyway, you don't get to choose your family, only the people you love."

Bodie looked at him. "As I remember it I didn't have any say in the matter, Cowley picked you."

"Remind me to send him a thank you card," said Doyle earnestly. "Frightening thought though, innit, Cowley playing Cupid."

Bodie winced. "You had to go and put that image into my head, didn't you."

He was still laughing when they reached the car.

"Let's go home. You can play with my sparkler," offered Doyle.

"And here was me hoping for spotted dick with all the trimmings."

"Play your cards right..."

 

 

Written 7th November 2007

THE END 


End file.
